A New School Year
by koalabear
Summary: AU 'sequel' of sorts to my story 'The Boy Who Died'.Incorporates elements of Order of the Phoenix.


**Title: A New School Year**  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing:** Cedric / Hermione  
**Notes:** Set after Goblet of Fire and contains elements of Order of the Phoenix. An AU 'continuation' of The Boy Who Died. There's absolutely no point reading this story if you haven't read The Boy Who Died first. :) This fic is based on the premise that, Cedric didn't die.

**Important note: **This story is FINISHED but I have only posted the first chapter here. To read the whole story please click on my USER NAME, this will take you to a link to my livejournal where you can read the complete story. A lot of people have not realised that the fragment on fanfiction is just a fragment - the complete story is at my livejournal.

* * *

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place looked like many things, but it certainly did not look like the sort of place that one would expect to find the headquarters of the mysterious Order of the Phoenix. 

Feeling inexplicably drained, Hermione sat on the bottom step of the staircase, leaning against the banisters. On one side was a pair of old, dusty and moth-eaten curtains. Beyond that was a large umbrella stand that Mrs Weasley said looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg. Hermione didn't care to find out if it really was.

She glanced up the stairs. In walking up the dark staircase, one passed a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. She had been extremely revolted to discover that the heads all belonged to former house-elves of the house of Black. She shivered slightly. It was indeed a house that looked as though it belonged to the darkest of wizards.

She supposed that in a way it was the perfect hiding place for the secret society of which Dumbledore was in charge. The Order was a small but very hopeful attempt to battle against the rising darkness of Voldemort. Who would expect to find them in a Dark place such as this? Hermione rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes. Voldemort was now much more than a shadowy and menacing presence - he had re-entered the world in corporeal form.

Kreacher, Sirius' extremely elderly house-elf sidled past her, hissing at her disparagingly beneath his breath. He was naked except for an extremely filthy rag that was tied around his waist. His large, sagging skin hung on him droopily. His head was bald and tufts of white hair grew out of his large ears. He glared at the world through bloodshot and pale watery grey eyes which were as droopy as his skin. His large nose was snout like. House elves were never known for being attractive in appearance and Kreacher, to put it charitably, was absolutely hideous.

The house-elf took no notice of Hermione as she sat on the landing, feigning that he could not see her although his insults were obviously intended for her ears. Hunched over, he shuffled slowly and clumsily towards the far end of the room, all the while muttering under his breath in a hoarse voice.

"Stains, of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth, besmirching my poor mistress' purebred air," he muttered. "My poor mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let into her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do?" he wailed to himself.

"Hullo Kreacher," Hermione said pleasantly. He shuddered as he looked at her and pretended not to hear.

Ron had called him a nutter. "His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque just like his mother," Ron had snapped at her irritably. "Is that normal, Hermione?"

"Well - well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault".

Ron had rolled his eyes at Harry. "Hermione still hasn't given up on SPEW".

"It's not SPEW!" Hermione had exclaimed heatedly. "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. And it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too".

Hermione looked down and touched her S.P.E.W. badge gently with her fingertips. There had only ever been one person who hadn't mocked her about her cause. Yes he had laughed, but he was a boy of laughter - there had never been any trace of mockery in his laughter...

She suppressed the thought ruthlessly. It had been more than a month. One month of quietness and solitude. She had rather liked being back in a world without magic, a world that didn't have the darkness hanging over it like an ever present shadow. Back home, she'd had the chance to tend to unseen wounds and hurts. To try to forget. She had done normal things, gone on walks with her parents, done her chores, gone shopping with her mother, watched television with her father ... Prosaic everyday, ordinary Muggle things that should have had nothing to do with the boy with laughing grey eyes. Unfortunately all things called that boy to mind. Even the non-magical made her recall their long discussions in the library about how Muggles lived.

_I just want to be able to hold your hand when other people can see. I want you to take me around and show me that strange and mystical Muggle World in which you live ... watch a movie ..._

If now and then she had felt a wistful ache that these were things that she had longed to show him, to see his fascinated interest in what was mundane for Muggles - it didn't matter anymore. That was then and this was now.

Her parents had sensed a change in her but no one else would have, that much was certain. When the Weasleys had seen her again, their thoughts were too full of their own anxieties and fears to notice that there was anything different about her. To be honest, Hermione had discovered that she was a far better actress than she herself had known.

Hermione had forgotten. She had told herself this so many times and with such firmness and resolution that she truly believed the truth of her own words. The idyllic time was simply a sweet and fleeting madness that had no place in reality. She didn't notice that her fingertip touched the badge again, touching it gently almost as a caress.

There was a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech which made her start in shock. Kreacher had 'accidentally' knocked the curtains apart and suddenly a hideous drooling, old woman with yellowing skin wearing a black cap was screaming and howling hysterically as though she were being tortured. Hermione flinched. She had seen the life-sized portrait of Sirius' mother before - too many times. It was realistic and disturbingly unpleasant.

Hermione knew from experience that the curtains wouldn't close and sighed in resignation as all along the hall, the other portraits awoke and began to yell, too.

She rose to her feet and tried to close the curtains anyway. Mrs Black brandished her clawed hands, scraping and grasping at the air as though she would delight in tearing Hermione limb from limb.

"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! It makes me sick that the likes of you are befouling the house of my fathers! Away with you!" Mrs Black woman howled at her furiously.

Mrs Weasley hastily hurried into the room, struggling to draw the curtains over Mrs Black's face, wincing slightly as Mrs Black looked as if she was about to have an apoplectic fit. "Kreacher, I've asked you not to open these curtains, you know it causes such a stir!" she said with gentle reproof.

The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and gave a very exaggerated and unconvincing start of surprise.

"Kreacher did not see mistress," he said, turning around and bowing to Mrs Weasley. Still facing the carpet, he added in an audible voice.

"Filthy blood traitor it is" he said.

"Kreacher, put a sock in it already," Ron said angrily as he walked into the room. "That's my mum you're talking to".

"Kreacher said nothing," said the elf, with a second bow to Ron. Without hesitation he added in a clear undertone, "and there's its offspring, filthy little brat of a blood traitor. Unnatural little beasts they are".

"Ron, no!" Hermione called out when it looked as though Ron would have liked nothing better than to box Kreacher's ears.

The elf straightened up, eyeing them all malevolently and hissed.

"… and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh, if my mistress knew, oh, how she'd cry, oh what can Kreacher do?"

"I'm going to ..." Ron exclaimed furiously.

"No Ron! Kreacher stop that, you're just making Ron angry," she told Kreacher.

Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever. "The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's mistress saw him in such company, oh, what would she say ..."

"Don't call her a Mudblood!' said Ron said furiously while his mother also looked very irritated although she already learned that it was useless to try to reprimand Kreacher. She had probably had to endure more of Kreacher than anyone else in the house.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said gently, staring at the house-elf with obvious pity in her dark eyes, "he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's ... "

"Don't kid yourself, Hermione, we both know that he knows exactly what he's saying," said Ron, eyeing Kreacher with intense dislike.

"Why are you here, Kreacher?" Mrs Weasley asked, having finally managed to silence Mrs Black's portrait even though she was still struggling to close the curtains.

Kreacher's massive eyes darted nervously towards Mrs Weasley. "Kreacher is cleaning".

Even Hermione had to sigh at that excuse. When Sirius was around, Kreacher would fling himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his nose on the floor and he would use sickeningly abasing speech like: "Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black", while in the same breath calling Sirius a "nasty ungrateful swine who was not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots".

The problem with Kreacher ... well one of the many problems with Kreacher was that each time he showed up show up pretending to be cleaning, he would sneak something off to his room so they couldn't throw it out. He seemed to take it as his personal mission in life to protect everything in the house from the blood traitors and the brats.

"I hate the thought of being related to that old harpy," Ron said shuddering, glancing at the twitching curtains over Sirius' mother's face. Mrs Weasley having finally succeeded in closing the curtains hurried off to deal with the sound of shattering glass in the other room.

"Sirius says that the pure-blood families are all interrelated," Hermione said soberly. ""If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry pure-bloods your choice is very limited and there are hardly pure-blooded families left". Ron nodded. "That's right. Sirius and mum and cousins by marriage and Arthur's something like his second cousin once removed ... but you know, if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it's us Weasleys," Ron said rolling his eyes and going with Hermione to sit on the stairs.

"This place is absolutely barmy," he said.

"Well at least Harry's here now - it's nice to have him with us again," Hermione said encouragingly. She and Ron had been absolutely delighted when Harry had finally joined them.

"Yes it's grand but crikey that was some show by Harry before," Ron said shaking his head. "He yelled louder than Sirius' mum - I don't know what's got into him!" he said. "It's hardly our fault he's being kept in the bleeding dark. It's not like we're being fully informed either," he muttered.

Hermione sighed. "He's been through a lot Ron ... it's only been a month you know"

"You're right," Ron said with a grimace. "I know he's still having nightmares about the Tournament - he had another one last night". Ron didn't go into detail but hearing Harry's sounds of terror as he slept were very upsetting. "I never know whether to wake him or let him be - he'd be embarrassed if he knew I'd heard him crying ..." Ron said gloomily. "I have my own nightmares of that night - seeing him back and Diggory on the ground covered in the blood like that ..." he shivered.

Hermione was proud of herself for not flinching. With almost no effort at all, she pushed aside memories of the shared smiles, the glances ... clasped hands, stolen kisses in the library.

"Anyway, I'd best be off. Mum wants me to help her take out the rubbish," Ron said with a yawn getting to his feet.

"Be careful - it's the first time I've seen rubbish that bites," Hermione said and Ron shrugged.

"Nothing about this house surprises me. I was attacked by the dustbin yesterday," he said, rubbing his ankle in remembered pain. "I'm not surprised Sirius ran away from home when he was young. I'm just surprised the house let him go".

The boy standing in the street discreetly pulled out a small piece of parchment. He was a tall youth, possibly seventeen or eighteen with tousled dark hair that fell carelessly onto his brow. His eyes were a brilliant grey, disconcertingly light when contrasted with his thick, dark lashes and his expression was very serious as he studied the writing.

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.  
Chapter 4 -Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_

As he had been instructed, he memorised it and then carefully set fire to the parchment with his wand-tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, the youth looked around at the houses again. He was standing outside number eleven; he looked to the left and saw number ten; to the right, however, was number thirteen.

Again, as instructed, the youth thought about what he had just memorised and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, then a somewhat old and shabby door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen. Dirty walls and grimy windows followed close behind. No hint of surprise or shock showed in his eyes as he studied the appearance of the house for a moment.

He walked up the worn stone steps and studied door which suddenly appeared. Like the walls, it was scratched and dirty. The silver doorknocker was a twisted serpent but there was no keyhole or letterbox.

"Whatever you do, do not knock using the serpent doorknocker," he had been told firmly.

Accordingly, he used his wand to tap the door once and heard many loud, metallic clicks. He paused for a moment, waiting. A sound like the clatter of a chain echoed in the silence and the door creaked open.

**

* * *

Recap note:** As mentioned - this story is FINISHED, to read the rest please click on my USER NAME, this will take you to a link to my livejournal where you can read the complete story. A lot of people have not realised that the fragment on fanfiction is just a fragment - the complete story is at my livejournal.


End file.
